dazed and confused
by shell games
Summary: the last day of school, as celebrated by the over-bored, self-assured youths of westchester county / AU
1. pre

it's the end of the school year at** briarwood**, a time which turns the lazy rich kids who attend into bored rich kids with nothing to do. that can only mean one thing an exciting! fun! recreational! summer full of

_freshman hazing_

grad parties

a l c o h o l

_loitering_

b r e a k u p s

_makeups_

late nights / early mornings

and just in general,

**summer scandal**

:::

t h e a l l n e w s e n i o r c l a s s

**claire**

**massie**

**derrick**

**josh**

**kemp**

**skye**

**layne**

**chris**

**olivia**

**dylan**

**alicia**

**landon**

**james**

**cam**

**plovert**

* * *

><p><strong>note:<strong> so i know this 'trailer' really doesn't say anything or anything, but it's an ambition thing because i've started writing again and i'll try not to stop this time, and if i've actually published the story i'll be more likely to write for it :] and yes this is based off the movie


	2. d

It was early in the morning by a teenager's standards, seven-thirty, yet the black tar oak-tree-lined parking lot of Briarwood Academy was already nearly full; shiny Porsches, hulking Range Rovers, and sleek Mercedes occupied each slot, still more pulling up along the drop-off curb and releasing hordes of neatly dressed students towards the tall, iron gates. The upperclassmen boys, dressed in full lacrosse, soccer, and basketball gear headed towards Briarwood's gym, where already a congregation of old freshmen - new sophomores - were earnestly gathered, waiting eagerly for team rosters to be posted and junior varsity sports orientation to begin.

The junior class girls were reveling in their almost-senior-glory, donning white t-shirts with SENIORS printed on them in navy college letters, tucked into Smarties-colored chiffon skirts or high-waisted cotton shorts, as they pressed their iPhones against their ears and gossiped through glossed lips about what who was wearing, where to party, and how to get there.

Most of those people don't matter.

Some do.

**::**

With her well-worn turquoise Keds softly padding through the polished wood floors of the gymnasium, Claire scanned the crowds before heading determinedly towards the west-side bleachers, where a large group of bushy-tailed sophomores sat, gazing upwards at two upperclassmen who stood facing them.

"Josh, Kemp, hey," she breathed when she reached the bleachers, tugging at their elbows urgently with her thin fingers. Both turned around, confusion evident on their aristocratic faces. Behind them, twenty-eight underclassmen stared at her with large eyes. Claire didn't notice them, instead saying quietly, "Sorry for interrupting orientation, but I need to talk to you both really quickly. It's super important." Unconsciously, she bit her bottom lip, which was feeling kind of dry. With a rare hint of desperation, she added, "Please?"

"Lyons, we're in the middle of something right now," Josh said wearily, glancing quickly down at the clipboard, which held a thick packet of paper, in his hands, then at the sophomores sitting on the bleachers, then back at the svelte blonde, whose steel blue eyes were wide and crystalline, giving off the general impression of some sort of princess mermaid. "Can't it wait until later?"

"It's really quick, I swear," Claire promised, clasping her hands together.

Kemp gave a small sigh. "What's it about?"

"It has to do with freshman initiation," she admitted carefully. "I have a teensy favor to ask you. But it's tiny, I promise." Her lips formed a strawberry-colored pout.

Raising his eyebrows, Kemp nodded slowly, because even though he'd spent most of his life hanging around Claire (and had slept with her more than once, although with considering Claire, that wasn't exactly a huge feat), even he wasn't completely immune to her charm. "Okay." He tucked his own clipboard under his arm

Claire's shoulders slumped in relief, and she unclasped her hands, sliding one into her back pocket and using the other to gesture. "Well, I have a little brother, Todd, and he wants to join freshman lacrosse next year, and I know you have to haze all the freshman who want to join your sport, but I was thinking, since you're captain of the lacrosse team, you could maybe choose to go a little softer on him?" She asked, tilting her head to the side, her white-blonde hair over her chest, towards her waist. "He's a small kid, and he really wants to join, and I don't want to scare him off it...just for me?" She added a persuasive smile to punctuate her sentence.

Kemp shook his head exasperatedly, waving a hand. "Yeah, whatever, Lyons," he agreed, and she grinned ecstatically and pressed her lips against his smooth cheek (the sophomore class tensed collectively); meanwhile, Josh raised his eyebrows. Quietly, so Claire couldn't hear him, Kemp muttered towards his friend, "That means we give him twice as much shit, right?"

Josh barely held back a smile and nodded slightly.

"Thank you, thank you so much," Claire gushed girlishly, giving Josh a small, grateful hug, before checking the time on her Samsung Galaxy Nexus and hurrying away, towards the glass double doors of the gymnasium. When she was halfway out the door, she yelled, with a tantalizing, pearly white smile, "You guys are the best!"

"I know," Josh yelled back, giving her a thumbs up.

Tentatively, a sophomore raised a scrawny arm and asked, "Does that happen a lot if you're on the lacrosse team?"

**::**

"Do you guys ever think we're huge dorks?" The skinny redhead questioned, looking around the small circle of couches, where her friends lay. Layne was on the floor, leaning against an ottoman, in an oversize thrifted The Clash sweatshirt, reading an Aquaman comic; Cam and James were having a staring contest. Their eyes were both watering, and Cam's eyelids were twitching maniacally. She rolled her hazel eyes. "Nevermind, I answered the question myself."

She went back to re-reading _The Great Gatsby_, which somehow had the capability to make her cry every single time she read it. But a few minutes later, she put down her book, and clapped her hands loudly. Both the boys jumped (and blinked), but Layne was still absorbed in her comic. Whatever. "We should do something. It's the last day of school, and we're sitting in the dustiest part of the library. Which we always do," Dylan pointed out. "We can do that anyday. We're seniors now. Let's do something fun."

"We have a whole summer where we can do fun things," Cam said, rubbing his eyes. He turned to James. "I totally won that, right?"

"You said that last summer," Dylan groaned, leaning back in her armchair. "Do you know what we did last summer?" James and Cam snickered at the almost-movie reference. She rolled her eyes again. "We did _nothing_. We sat around Benny's and played pool until James almost got beat up." Benny's was a bar owned by a guy named Benny; he never carded and gambled more than his customer's did. He had also served the group free breakfast one morning, since they had single-handedly turned his cashflow positive.

"I won, definitely," James told Cam, before saying, "And I didn't _almost_ get beat up, there were definitely a few _punches_ being thrown around." Layne stopped reading her comic for a second to smirk, before returning. "Well, most of the punches were at me, rather than from me...but why are you suddenly so ambitious?"

"Because you're all killing me with how lame we are," Dylan mustered dramatically. "C'mon, Jamie - how do they party at Hogwarts?"

James heaved a sigh, faceplanting into an pillow. "When will I outlive my Englishness?"

"Never," Layne quipped.

"We could go to Skye's party," Dylan mused. "Olivia invited me a few days ago."

"Little Miss Popularity, hanging out with Olivia Ryan," Cam sing-songed.

Dylan replied, "Fuck off. It's an idea. Otherwise we'll spend our first day of freedom at Benny's. Again." She let out a frustrated yelp, and threw her paperback to the ground in anger. Then, gently, she picked it back up and lay it by her side, checking to make sure it hadn't damaged during her Hulk-out.

"Aren't we going to help with freshmen orientation?" Cam asked. "Since, you know, it's not actually orientation as much as it is a terrible hazing ritual."

"Cam, it's a bunch of freshman girls being forced to do humiliating things in order to be accepted into a psychological mindset where they fit in. Besides being degrading and disgusting, it's against everything I, and you should, believe in," Dylan proclaimed loudly.

"And Skye's party isn't?" he retorted.

"Free booze," defended Dylan, swiftly.

There was a three second pause.

"Let's go, then," Cam agreed complaisantly.

**::**

_with the light's out, it's less dangerous_  
><em>here we are now, entertain us<em>

"Hey, man, Nirvana's pretty cool, man," a voice from behind Landon Crane crowed, causing him to jump, nearly falling out of the desk he was sitting in. Annoyed, he turned around, and saw a lanky, long-haired guy with half-closed eyes grinning dumbly. Landon sighed, and yanked his white earbud out.

"Shit, Abeley," he grumbled. "What the hell do you want?"

"So I got your weed," the aforementioned said drowsily, pulling a plastic baggie full of marijuana out of his back pocket and practically waving it around. Landon groaned and snatched it out of Chris's grubby hands and stuffed it inside his paper lunch bag, hoping the teacher hadn't seen (she hadn't; she was snoozing, like nearly everybody else in the class).

"Shit, Abeley," Landon muttered again. "How fucking high are you, right now?"

"Really," Chris nodded dreamily. "Really, really high. Last day of school, man. I'm getting a serious case of senioritis." He grinned, running a hand through his shoulder-length hair, before scratching his nose. "Hey, man, do you have any food, man?"

Trying to keep the conversation with Abeley as short as possible, Landon ignored him and pulled out a dark leather Hugo Boss wallet. "How much?" He asked, pulling out two fifties. When Abeley didn't respond, Landon snapped his fingers in front of his clouded eyes, and he gave a small twitch. "How much?"

"Hundred twenty," Chris said, vaguely. Landon added a twenty and slipped the money into his outstretched hands. Abeley grinned and fell, gracefully if his proportions would let him, into the desk behind Landon, who closed his hazel eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Abeley always had the best drugs, but anytime anyone bought from him, he acted like he was their friend for at least a day afterwards. While Chris was great with illegal substance, he was shit at socializing.

Thankfully, at this point, Kemp walked in the class, looking irritated, which was understandable - he'd just spent an hour reading Briarwood's Code of Conduct to the incoming athletes from the lower classes. Slumping into the desk next to Landon's, Kemp moaned, "I just told thirty sophomores not to do drugs or drink alcohol for a full hour, and I really need a fucking cigarette."

"We have a friend who can help you with that," Landon deadpanned, jerking his towards Abeley, who was writing his initials on the desk with a Magic Rub eraser.

Kemp regarded the scene for all of two seconds, before saying to Landon, "But you got it, right?" Landon nodded and tossed the brown paper bag at him. He peered inside. "Shit, that's a lot. I think we can put up with Abeley for a few hours."

"As long as he doesn't try to kiss anybody," Landon muttered, recalling last summer. "Fucking weirdo."

Kemp snorted. "Look on the bright side," he said, gesturing towards the bag, "once you show Skye this, you'll get lucky for sure. Poor Joshie could be the fucking King of Spain and Kristen still wouldn't put out for him." He laughed before turning around and looked at the teacher, who was still sleeping, and reached into his sports bag for his pack of Lucky Strikes.

"Oh, give me one of those," another weary voice said. Kemp looked up. It was Claire, and she looked frustrated, settling on top of Kemp's desk, crossing her legs Indian-style. "Most humiliating experience of my life."

"What, cupcake?" Kemp asked, in a false, higher voice.

"Shut the fuck up," Claire groaned, taking Kemp's lighter out of his hands before he could light his cigarette to light her own. "I don't know why I even try. I mean, am I _invisible_ or something?" She took a huge, agitated drag.

"No, I'm not following," Kemp informed her. He asked Landon, "Are you following?"

"You'll laugh," Claire mumbled, holding her cigarette between her lips and tying her back into a disheveled bun.

"We won't," Landon said amiably.

Claire took another drag, looking between the two boys, before closing her eyes dramatically and saying, very quickly, "Derrington."

"Excuse me?" asked Kemp, uncertainly.

Chris had finished playing with the Magic Rub eraser. "Dude, I think she said Ferris wheel, man." He nodded, before doing a little dance to some unknown music. Claire raised a threaded eyebrow quizzically.

"We got weed for Skye's party, you know how Abeley is," Landon said. Claire nodded sympathetically, and offered Abeley a soft smile.

Kemp held up a hand. "Wait, wait, don't change the subject, Lyons. I'm genuinely concerned for the feelings of Briarwood's little angel princess. Did somebody insult your hair or something? Do we need to call the police?"

Claire flicked his forehead, annoyed. "No." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before sighing again. Slowly, she repeated, "Derrick. Harrington."

"Derrick Harrington insulted your hair?" Landon asked, confused. "I can't really see that."

"No, moron, Derrick Harrington is..." she trailed off, and pensively took another drag.

"Shit, you're not," Kemp said suddenly. He tried to suppress laughter, but failed pretty miserably. "Claire, babe, please tell me you're not. Harrington's...not your type. Or, well, you're not his type. Mainly because you're not the sport of soccer."

Claire rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well, I found that out today, when, when I tried to talk to him, he said he needed to talk to the soccer coach, and left me outside the boy's team lockers." Annoyed, she put her cigarette out on the table, leaving a darkened circle. "The worst part is, this has happened before with him. I've never been treated like this before."

"Oh, I could imagine that," Landon said, nodding.

"The fuck is his problem," Claire muttered, leaning forward sullenly, her elbows on her knees.

Chris said, "Whoa, man, did you see that dragon?"

**::**

Her aerobics-class toned legs crossed as she perched on the desk in her history class, wearing a crisp Marc by Marc Jacobs boat-neck navy blue dress, skinny Tiffany platinum-and-diamond bracelets delicately wrapped around her wrist, with her hair in a neat, petite plait that curled towards the end. Next to her were two almost-as-nicely-dressed, but not quite, blondes, who were attempting to name Madonna songs in alphabetical order. Kristen Gregory was looking good, but she was feeling even better. Her parents were out of town, her junior year had ended with perfect grades, and her boyfriend was currently walking towards her.

"Material Girl," Kristen said to Olivia, who wrote it down in her notebook with a heavyweight ballpoint ben, before hopping off the desk and wrapping her arms around her suitor, who reminded Kristen of Prince Charming from _Cinderella_. "Hey."

"Hey," Josh greeted, pressing his lips against hers in a slightly-longer-than-a-peck, before his eyes flicked upwards towards the teacher sitting behind the front desk, and reluctantly leaned back. He dropped his lacrosse stick and duffel bag into a seat and ran a hand through his thick, dark hair. "What's going on?"

"Madonna. Alphabetical order. We were bored," Kristen shrugged. Then, hopefully, "Are you going to Skye's tonight?"

"You should," Skye called from her desk, flipping her wavy golden hair over her delicate shoulder. "You forgot Me Against the Music, Liv."

"I knew there was something between Material and Mer Girl," Olivia grumbled, crossing out the latter. "Yeah, but anyway, Skye's dad just bought a vineyard, so she has a shitload of alcohol. Is it Nobody's Perfect yet?"

"Liv, we haven't even finished _M_ yet," Skye argued.

Smiling at her friends, she pushed Josh back a few feet, away from the desks, and stood on her toes to reach his ear, whispering, "Actually, instead of going to Skye's, I was thinking we could -"

Her words were interrupted by a loud, abrasive shout from across the room: "Get some, Hotz!" Seething, Kristen stepped away and scanned the room, irritated, trying to find the culprit so she could be sure to ruin their social life. Fortunately, the said culprit was making way for the couple, so she didn't have to look too hard.

Unfortunately, it was Massie Block, tackishly wearing her class shirt, which was cut short, just above the hips, and paired with slate gray Acne wool shorts. This irritated Kristen, and she reminded herself to set up an appointment down at her favorite spa, Simply, for a back massage, and maybe an organic coconut and raw sugar facial.

Gritting her teeth as the waifish brunette traipsed over, Kristen put on her coolest gaze, Massie's annoying lacquer Doc Martens making muffled clomping noises against the soft carpet of the classroom. A mischievous smile was place on her rose-red lips, and her cat-like amber eyes were sparkling with roguishness. "Kris, Hotz," she greeted, her shortening of Kristen's name shooting anger throughout her body. Solely to Josh, she said, "Did you get the eggs? You can't humiliate freshmen properly without raw eggs, you know."

"Oh, yeah," Josh, oblivious as always to Kristen's body language, said, stepping away from his girlfriend, towards his duffel bag. He pulled out two cardboard cartons and handed it to her. Scrutinizing every detail as Massie took the box and placed it under her arm, Kristen made sure their hands didn't 'accidentally' brush, or something, because she _knew_, she just _knew_, that Massie wanted Josh. And why not? He was hot, and sweet, and _great_ at kissing, and if Massie had been like any other girl, Kristen would've gotten her kicked out the second she got within a ten-foot radius of him.

But Massie was pesty, in the way that she always somehow evaded trouble. Kristen postulated that it was probably because she _was_ trouble, from the roots of her damaged hair to the toes of her combat boots.

"Here's a twenty," Massie said, holding the bill out like a business card. "You guys going to Skye's?"

"Of course," Josh answered. Kristen clenched her delicate hands into tight fists.

"See ya there, then," Massie replied, waving her fingers goodbye, as Josh pocketed the money. Kristen managed a smile.

Hopefully_ not_.


	3. a

**what can i say? everybody loved the kemp/josh bromance, and honestly, i really do too. plus bromances are totally my thing :]  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"Hurley! Hurley! It's almost eleven," Josh hissed at his friend, who was currently reading <em>Maxim<em> hidden inside a physics textbook with his earbuds in. When there was no response, Josh snapped his fingers at him. "Oi, Hurley!" Kemp flipped a page (an interview with Scarlett Johansson) and didn't reply. Sighing, he balled up a piece of college-ruled binder paper and threw it at him. It ricocheted off Kemp's purposefully messy hair and fell to the ground.

Kemp finally looked at him, looking annoyed. "What?" he mouthed, glancing up at the only teacher who still actually insisted on giving the kids classwork on the last day of school, Mr. Thomas, and looking back at the other boy, who tapped his Rolex, then the door. Kemp checked the analog clock hanging on the wall above the front whiteboard, before nodding and closing his textbook, covertly sliding _Maxim_ into his drawstring bag and raising his hand. "Mr. Thomas!"

"Yes, Mr. Hurley?" The elderly man asked, not looking up from his papers. "Do you have a question about your work?"

"No, no, it's just, it's nearly eleven, and the captains of the sports teams are supposed to go to the middle school," Kemp said, smiling charmingly. "You can check it with Coach Carter, if you need to, but we have the slip right here. Josh and I, I mean." He held up the paper, before getting up out of his seat and placing it under Mr. Thomas' nose.

"Yes, yes, that's all fine," Mr. Thomas said, after scanning it. "You may leave."

"Thanks a ton, Mr. Thomas," Kemp said, his voice dripping with gratefulness. "I'll be sure to report your good attitude to the Headmistress."

Josh rolled his eyes and dragged Kemp out of the classroom before his ego inflated even more. For some reason, girls found Kemp's lack of morale and major superiority complex attractive, but Josh thought Kemp was an idiot. He frowned. Thinking about girls made Josh think about Kristen, and his hands suddenly got a bit sweaty. She'd tried to say something earlier, but Massie had come and she got cut off and Kristen ended up looking angrier than usual - which meant she'd probably be even colder than she already was, unless he did something to make up whatever it was he did wrong, which, as usual, he didn't know.

"What's wrong? You look constipated," Kemp remarked, as they climbed into Kemp's Cadillac Escalade. "Oh wait, that's just your thinking face."

"Fuck off," Josh replied. "Kristen's angry with me."

"Shit," Kemp said, almost sympathetically. "That means you'll be getting less sex than you already do. And you already get absolutely no sex, if the rumors are true."

Kemp was actually right, for once, but Josh still said, "Fuck off."

"I knew it," Kemp sighed, shaking his head. "Face it, Josh, your girlfriend's a grade-A, standard-issue, FDA-approved bitch who thinks she's hot enough to pull off that virgin ice queen thing - which she is, mind you, but that still sucks for you and she's still a bitch."

Josh felt like he was supposed to be defending his girlfriend, somehow, but he didn't have the energy to. "It's not the sex thing, it's how easily she gets angry so fucking easily."

"First off, Hotz, it's always a sex thing, but we can ignore that momentarily," Kemp said solemnly, checking his rearview mirror, before casting a glance at Josh. "What did you to anger Her Royal Highness this time?"

"I have no idea," Josh sighed. "I never do. And one day, she'll just bounce back and buy me cufflinks or some shit like nothing happened and then I'll have to buy her something more expensive to make up for whatever it was I did and - squirrel - then, if I'm lucky, we can go another month before the cycle begins again."

"Okay, redo of what I said last time. First off, I was not expecting you to go all Jerry Springer on me. Secondly, and I'm not sure if I'm reading this correctly or what, but there are some vibes that are telling me that you're not happy with Kristen," Kemp said even more solemnly. "These are just little wavelengths, here or there - shit, squirrel - but maybe that's just me."

Josh said, "Fuck off," again.

"So the only question left, is why are you still dating her?"

"I have no idea," Josh sighed again, staring out the window.

The Escalade pulled up to the middle school, Octavian Country Day, and the boys hopped out. After getting visitor's badges and directions to the school's gym, they continued. "I like her," Josh said wearily.

"Everybody likes her," Kemp shrugged. "In a way that's like, if you don't like her, you won't get into college because she's just that type of girl."

"I really do like her," Josh repeated.

Kemp pushed open the heavy metal doors to the gym. "Then stay with her, man. But right now, Dr. Phil will resume _after_ the commercial break." And he walked inside the gym, where an eager crowd of freshmen awaited them. Kemp's first remark was, "My God, freshmen are ugly." His second: "And loud."

"Lacrosse is over there," Josh pointed to a sign that read LACROSSE, where a huge aggregation of small 13 year-olds were gathered, looking nervous. They reached the group, of which the tallest boy was a good foot shorter than Josh. Impressive.

"So you guys want to take lacrosse next year?" Kemp asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Many nodded. A few actually said _yes_. Kemp nodded. "Good choice. Gets you the most girls." The freshmen smiled weakly, unsure whether Kemp was joking or not. "But you should know, a lot more goes into lacrosse than just balls and sticks - that sounded a lot less gay in my mind - there's also sportsmanship. And here's where co-captain Joshua Hotz will take over."

Kemp presented Josh to the crowd, sat down on the bench, and pulled out _Maxim_.

"Thanks, dude," Josh muttered.

"I did the sophomores," Kemp replied.

Which was true. Grimly, Josh took out the novel-sized packet of regulations he was supposed to read and cleared his throat. "The Briarwood Code of Conduct states that any player who wishes to play on a competitive sport during the schoolyear..."

And forty minutes later, "...and we hope we'll see you all next year in lacrosse," Josh concluded. He looked up, his eyes and throat dry. He had managed to stop thinking about Kristen - oh, no, there she was again - and wondered how he was going to have the energy to haze the freshmen after school. Which reminded him. "And is there anybody here named Todd Lyons?"

Kemp looked up from his nails, which he had been examining like a queer, with interest.

A small - Claire had been right - boy with a mop of curly red hair, freckles, and bony elbows raised a shaky hand. Kemp raised an eyebrow, and from behind his magazine, whispered to Josh, "Dude, how is _that_ related to Claire Lyons?"

"We'll be seeing a lot of you this summer," Josh told Todd, who looked, understandably, freaked out.

"Bu-but why?" Todd squeaked.

Josh shrugged, and stuffed his papers in his bag, as Kemp got up off the floor. "Thanks for your time and patience," Kemp saluted to the freshmen, tapping two fingers to his forehead. "Now let's get the fuck out of here, I think I'm developing a rash."

**::**

Alicia pursed her glossy lips and frowned as she leaned against the stall, tapping a painted Black Satin by Chanel finger inquisitively against tan chin. "Landon Crane, or Joshua Hotz," she finally said, tipping ash out of her cigarette. Massie, who was perched on one of the porcelain sinks, and Claire, who was checking her flawless reflection in one of the mirrors, both grinned.

"Good one," Claire said, turning around.

"Landon," Massie answer indecisively. "No, Josh."

"They're both hot," Claire mused. "Okay, well, is Josh still dating Kristen in this scenario?"

"Oh, God, I go back to Landon, Skye is less of a bitch," Massie said immediately. The bathroom door opened, then closed with a huge slam, and a small group of underclassmen appeared. Massie pointed back out the door, "Get out, senior privileges."

"But the school year isn't even over yet-" the younger girl began.

"Well, your shirt is still ugly, so move it," Massie retorted, flicking an unimpressed glance at the try-hard magenta Juicy Couture graphic t-shirt. She flicked her hand lazily towards the door. "Now, please."

The young girl tried to be brave, and instead of wisely moving out the door, said, in vain, "I could report you to the Headmaster for smoking in the bathrooms!" Evidently, she really needed to pee or something, and Massie rolled her eyes at the pathetically dry attempt.

"I'd like to see you try," Massie shrugged.

Alicia tipped ash on the girl's bleached hair. "Bye, now," she said sweetly.

Finally, she left, and the girls resumed their conversation. "I'd do Josh," Claire announced. "Well, I would if I had a deathwish. Landon's a bit easy to impress, though, which could get irritating."

"Claire, your best friend is Kemp Hurley and you're currently vying for the attention of the only _actual_ asexual teenaged boy living on this planet," Massie pointed out. "I don't think you can make great judgment on the impressionablity of people."

"Derrick has a sexuality, it's just towards a sport, and not to like, a human being," Claire said, bitterly. "Fuck."

"I'd do Landon," Massie said, conclusively. "No, Josh." She fell into silence again. "Well, whatever. It's my turn, now, right? It hasn't been my turn in forever."

"Shoot," Alicia said.

"Harris Fisher," Massie trailed off. She took a drag of her cigarette. "Or Dempsey Solomon."

"Noo," Alicia moaned. "That's like choosing between Brad Pitt and George Clooney."

"Brad," Claire said immediately. "But between them, I have no clue. God, they were hot. And then they all turned eighteen and got all weird about statutory rape laws and shit. That sucked." Claire sighed heavily and shook her blonde head wistfully. "Senior boys. Before we were senior girls senior boys, I mean. I guess we could catch up with them in college, if they don't do too many drugs and drop out."

"You win, Massie," Alicia said.

"Sweet," Massie replied.

**::**

The dark haired boy feverishly trailed kisses down her neck as she hitched her legs around his hips, unbuttoning the faded blue Giorgio Armani shirt, her pale fingers pressing against his chest, as his lips traced her collarbone, then shoulders, then -

The bell rang.

Annoyed, Layne sighed loudly as the boy leaned back, allowing her to hop down from the desk she'd been sitting on as he buttoned his shirt back up. "That wasn't the first time that's happened," she mused lightly, fixing Landon's black hair, like a mother would a child.

"Hooking up on a time constraint sucks," he replied.

"You could break up with your girlfriend," she suggested. They had this conversation a lot. Like yesterday. It always played out the same way.

He shot her an affectionate look. "You're the one who said you couldn't be seen with Landon Crane," he pointed out, messing up his hair again. "You never explained why, by the way. I wrote about it in my diary for weeks. Dear Diary, Layne was being mean to me again..."

"Pumpkin," Layne said, in an exaggerated 50's housewife accent. "Your shirt costs six hundred dollars."

"Giorgio Armani provides clean drinking water for the impoverished children of Ghana through his charitable organizations and humanitarian works," Landon said.

"Pumpkin, Giorgio Armani is orange, and your shirt still costs six hundred dollars," Layne said, smiling, and tucking a piece of dark brown hair behind her ear. "And I know this because Skye wouldn't shut up about it during math."

"Did that bother you?" Landon asked, curious.

Layne slung her book bag over her shoulder. "No, the fact that she wouldn't shut up about your future marriage to her is what bothered me," she answered, quite honestly. "She was actually planning the wedding. It was kinda endearing. So I think if you broke up with her, she would be very..." Layne struggled for the right word. "Sad."

"And you care about that?" Landon questioned, surprised. "How sad Skye is, I mean."

"I don't think you should break up with her," Layne said, as they exited the classroom together and began walking towards English, in a comfortable silence. When they reached the door, Layne said, "Should I go in first, or should you?"

They were pretty good at making sure they weren't caught.

"You can," Landon said.

"Don't love you," Layne sang, an inside joke.

"Don't love you too," Landon replied, as Layne slipped inside the classroom.

**::**

"Where the fuck have you been?" Was Dylan's greeting to her very tardy friend, as she slipped into the seat next to her's. "Cam, the most socially progressive person I know, has spent the past ten minutes _attempting_ to explain to me why Superman was cooler than Batman. Can you believe that? I needed a partner to hold him down while I taped his mouth shut."

Layne grinned. "Cam, you're retarded," she said. "Superman is allergic to a _rock_."

"Yes, but a rock that _only exists on his homeplanet which was blown up or whatever!_" Cam pointed out. "Batman doesn't have any _real_ powers, either. He just built himself to be super with the money he didn't even earn himself - it was inheritance from his _dead_ parents!"

"Too soon," Dylan said solemnly, shaking her head and holding up a hand. "Way too soon."

"Face it, Cam, Batman is sexier, stronger, and has more friends than Superman will ever have," Layne agreed, nodding her head.

"You two are ridiculous," Cam grumbled. Dylan laughed. Poor Cam always lost all arguments, because Layne and her always agreed on basically everything, and James was so easily persuadable; unfortunately, Cam sucked at persuasion. Sometimes, it didn't even seem fair to start arguments with him.

As Cam sulked, Dylan turned back to Layne. "So, seriously, what were you doing?"

"Peeing," Layne said casually, without missing a beat.

Dylan snorted. "For ten minutes," she stated.

"I drank a lot of water," Layne shrugged.

"Whatever. So Radiohead is playing in New York City next month, you wanna go?" Dylan asked, her attention span sparing Layne from further scrutinizing. "I know you think that Radiohead stopped being cool like, eight years ago, but they'll probably play their classics, then we could just balk and get suspicious tattoos and and sell our livers and piss off my mom or something."

"Ooh, Merri-Lee Marvil getting angry," Layne grinned. "Remember when she tried to set you up with what's-his-face from those weird wizard movies?"

"Oh, shut up," Dylan groaned.

Randomly, Chris, Layne's druggie brother, came over and leaned on an arm placed on Dylan's head. Layne rolled her narrow green eyes. "Chris, go away and pretend we're not related, please."

"No, man, I heard Radiohead was playing, their stuff is so chill, man, I wanna come along, man," Chris said. "Radiohead, man, their stuff is so chill, I wanna go see them."

"You know, we were actually in the womb at the same time? Strange thought," Layne shuddered. "Now fuck off, Chris."

"Wait, Laynie, you got any food?" He asked.

"No, Chris, and if you call me Laynie again, I'll punch you, then steal your drugs and sell them for a profit that you're always too baked to earn," Layne told him.

Chris ran his hands through his hair. "Man, my sister is so mean to me, Dylan," he told Dylan, except he pronounced her name 'Dye-lan'. "Do you have food? I'm like, really hungry, man."

"Stop hitting on her, Chris," Layne said.

"I'm not, man, I have a girlfriend, gosh," Chris said. Layne scoffed. "I do, man, I do, she's awesome. Maybe my friends will have some food. Yeah. Yeah."

"Chris, you don't have friends," Layne sighed.

Chris adamantly shook his head. "Yeah I do, they're over there, go look. Hi, guys!" He bellowed across the room, to a few soccer and lacrosse jocks. Dylan slipped out from under Chris's arm and moved to another desk. Suddenly unbalanced, Chris wavered, like a very skinny tree in the wind, before straightening.

"Bye, Chris," Layne said, giving her brother a little push.

"Bye, man," Chris said, ruffling Cam's shaggy black hair as he stumbled back to the other side of the classroom.

**::**

The clock ticked. Glances were sent at wrists, where expensive watches told time to the millisecond; others were sent towards phones, where calculator numbers flicked, counting upwards from 2:49 PM, to 2:50 PM, 2:51 PM...A restless air sat about Briarwood, from the freshmen who would no longer be the smallest kids in school in seven minutes (six, five), all the way up to the seniors (who, donning the pullover crewneck sweaters of the Ivy League of their choice, could hardly wait for the big three-oh-oh). Teachers, even were listlessly tapping heavy ink pens, maybe even more eager to leave than the students.

2:58 PM.

The skinny seconds hand on the clock edges towards the twelve - 2:59 PM.

Anticipation builds in the veins, boiling and boiling, ready to burst out, bodies threaten to bombard the doors of their own respective classrooms, time checks become more furtive and urgent...

Then, 3:00 PM.

And school was out.

* * *

><p><strong>mm, somebody asked if their was a chance of jolicia. there's a possibility, but not...a very big one? :]<br>**


	4. z

This is how the freshman girls' orientation has worked, works, and will work for years to come at the Briarwood Academy, in Westchester, NY:

**1.** Ten freshmen girls to one senior girl.

**2.** The seniors choose the freshmen, and NEVER the other way around.

**3.** Orientation begins with the words "Welcome to Briarwood Freshman Orientation" and end with "We hope to see you all next year". Always. Bonus points for smiles.

**4.** Seniors can merge to form groups: twenty freshmen to two seniors, thirty to three, etc.

**5.** Orientation lasts for ninety minutes.

**6.** The senior is in charge of their freshmen for the entirety ninety minutes, from picking them up at Octavian Country-Day, to dropping them off at their houses.

**7.** Orientation must take place on the Briarwood campus.

**8.** All freshmen are required to participate, but not all seniors are.

**9.** Seniors who are participating must wear their class shirts.

**10.** Seniors must adequately prepare freshmen for Briarwood.

**::**

"You," Massie said, pointing her finger at a petite blonde freshman standing outside the front gates of Octavian Country-Day and beckoning her over. "Are you a freshman?" The blonde nodded, clutching her oversized, embroidered Juicy Couture tote close to her body. Massie grinned, and patted her shoulder comfortingly. "Say something nice about me."

The blonde freshman looked hesitant.

"Anything, really, don't be shy," Massie encouraged, flashing a kind smile and putting an arm around the freshman's shoulders. "We're going to be very close, very soon."

"I...like your boots?" The freshman said uncertainly, looking down at Massie's combat boots, which reflected the sun.

Massie squeezed the blonde's shoulder. "Thank you! You can ride in the car," she said, putting a finger to the freshman's nose. "Now, what's your name?"

"Jacqueline, Jacqueline Dyer," the freshman answered.

"Great, Jacqueline," Massie replied, placing a gold star sticker on Jacqueline's forehead. "Now, don't lose the sticker, otherwise you'll have to walk to Briarwood!"

The look on the girl's face made Massie smile, and she steered Jacqueline further into the crowd of nervous freshmen girls, waiting for their senior 'sisters' to choose them for orientation. Scanning the legions of super-skinny, Juicy Couture-toting middle schoolers with her golden eyes, Massie spotted another potential, standing by the flagpole.

"Hi, I'm Massie," Massie greeted the new freshman, who was slightly taller than Jacqueline, with straight, light brown hair. "Are you freshman?"

She nodded, more confident than Jacqueline, but still anxious.

"Compliment me," Massie ordered her.

The freshman bit her bottom lip for a few seconds, before saying, "You're pretty."

Massie tsked and shook her head in mock disappointment. "Whoops, wrong answer," she sang, pulling out a sheet of red X's and sticking it on her forehead. "You'll have to walk." But she wrapped her arm around the freshman anyway and asked, "And what should I call you?"

"Anastasia Brees," Anastasia told her. In a whinier voice, she asked, "Do I really have to walk to Briarwood?"

"Yes, unfortunately," Massie said, almost like she regretted it, which she didn't. "Do you have any friends, Anastasia Brees, or are you some loser who hangs out by herself?" She nodded again. "Well, what are you waiting for? Let's go meet them."

Massie plastered a smile on her face as she passed Claire, who had changed into her class shirt during last period, had already collected seven freshmen, all of whom were wearing baby's bonnets and pacifiers; on the other side of the pavement, Kristen was writing down the names of her freshmen, a preppy lot wearing pastel tulip skirts, Burberry headbands, and Ralph Lauren polo shirts.

After she'd gotten ten freshmen, Massie lead her group to her car - a used, but heavily restored 1976 Chevy convertible - and opened the back door to let Jacqueline and two other freshmen, Angelica and Noelle, enter the car. The seven other freshmen with X's on their foreheads looked at the two empty seats wistfully as Massie hopped in and started up the ignition, looking at the unmoving girls expectantly.

"Uh, move it," Massie told the freshmen, rolling her eyes.

**::**

Kristen wrote in the name of her last freshman, whose name was Ellie, in large, neat print on her clipboard, before clapping her hands together, instantly garnering the attention of her new young followers. "Come on, sisters," Kristen called. "Our carriage awaits!"

A limousine pulled up behind her at the gloriously right moment, and the driver got out and tipped his hat to her. "Miss Gregory," he said graciously, as he opened the door - just enough for Kristen and the freshman to slide in one by one, but not enough for anybody besides them to see the luxurious interior, complete with a small sushi bar, black upholstery, and ten Fendi perforated leather purses filled with small, but expensive, gifts - Kristen's version of a goodie bag.

Oohs and ahs were music to Kristen's ears, and as soon as everybody had climbed in, she handed out the bags with a huge, satisfactory smile, knowing that now, she had ten willing freshmen at her beck and call.

**::**

"LEESH!" The blonde bellowed, for probably the fifth time in the row, leaning off the side of her cherry red Jeep in what could've been viewed as dangerous, if she hadn't been driving on a wide, basically empty suburban road, to the Mercedes SL driving a few hundred feet in front of her. "Oh, Jesus Christ, she's deaf," Claire muttered, pulling her cell phone out of the back pocket of her One Teaspoon acid wash denim shorts and tossing it the freshman sitting in the front seat. "Nikki, right? Look up Alicia in the contacts list and call her, that crazy bitch."

The freshman in question had large, light brown eyes, and light brown hair that lay straight and turned dark gold in the sun. Claire kind of liked her, because she didn't talk much, and when she did, it didn't make Claire want to pull her pretty blonde hair out, which is more than she could say for the group of ninth graders in the back.

"It went to voicemail," Nikki said.

"Oh, fuck her," Claire yawned, reaching into the glove compartment and pulling out a pair of Oliver's Peoples aviators and pushing them up her nose, before taking her phone back. "Whatever. I'll just merge with Massie, then. Leesh can deal with the freshman whores by herself." Pause. "No offense."

"It's fine," Nikki said.

In the sideview mirror, Claire could occassionally catch a glimpse of Massie's convertible, which was inching along next to the sidewalk, where a small group of freshman girls were slouched over, limping in their low-heeled Kate Spade heels, as Massie's skinny arm poked out the driver's window, occasionally making "hurry up" motions, occasionally tipping cigarette ash onto the street.

"See, be happy that's not you," Claire said.

Nikki smiled.

**::**

Meanwhile, back at Octavian Country-Day, the last of the freshmen girls were chosen and driven away, and in the the third stall of the second floor boy's bathroom of building A on campus was a very small, very jittery boy.

A knock at the stall made Todd yelp and jump. "Who is it?" Todd asked suspiciously.

"Danny, retard," Danny said. "Dude, I knew you'd be in here! Have you seriously not moved from this stall since lunch?"

Todd sighed with relief. "Danny, you don't understand," Todd said seriously, stuffing his scrawny arms deep inside his gray American Apparel hoodie. Stammering, "Didn't you see the looks on those guys faces? They totally want to kill me! And I don't know why!"

"Todd, bro, you can't stay in here for the whole summer," Danny pointed out. "They'll get you some time, just like they get everyone. They were probably just fuckin' with you. C'mon, open up." With his foot, Todd slid open the lock, and the bathroom door swung open. "You look fuckin' pathetic."

"How did they know my name?" Todd cried maniacally, throwing his arms up in the air. "My full name! And why me? Why did they single me out? I've never even seen them before in my life!" His blue eyes, which matched his sister's, grew wide with terror. "I need to get outta here. I'll just, I'll go straight home, and I'll come out when it's time for conditioning, otherwise, I can just stay inside, because my parents have a security system and everything -"

"Dude, stop pussying out," Danny said comfortingly. "They're just two asshole guys who think they can freak you out 'cuz they're seniors. Don't let it get to you. You'll probably get the same as everyone else."

"Doubt it," Todd muttered, shifting his backpack onto his shoulders and making way for the exit of the bathroom. "I mean, my full name!"

"Dude, they probably had a roster or something," Danny shrugged, but Todd couldn't help but realize Danny was hypothesizing a lot of things, which just made him even more nervous. "Okay, well, since you're being so fucked up about it, we'll just bike straight home and make a plan there. But you're not staying at your house all summer, you turd."

"Why not?"

"Because we're _freshmen_ now, Todd. We go to _high school_. Staying home and re-playing Gears of War is for kids who go to middle school," Danny said. "We can ask your sister to take us to parties and stuff now, because we go to the same school."

Todd shook his head vigorously, his red curls flying around. "No. No way, bro. Claire hangs out with those losers. I'm pretty sure she's _done it_ with them, too. I am not asking Claire for anything."

"Whatever," Danny shrugged.

They went towards the bike racks, where two lone bikes sat, still locked, warm from the summer sun. A shadow passed Todd as he unlocked his bike, and he jumped, but it turned out to just be the janitor, waiting to lock up. Hopping on his bike, Todd felt slightly safer - but then he remembered that Josh and Kemp probably had cars. Fast ones, too.

"I could pretend to be sick, or something," Todd suggested. "I mean, they can't beat me up if I have cancer, right?"

"I think you're totally overthinking this. They aren't going to go around and beat up every single kid who wants to join the lacrosse team, think about it - they'll be too tired to do that! You'll maybe get a thwack on the ass or like, be forced to run naked through the streets or some shit," Danny hypothesized again. "What about Claire? What happened to her when she was a freshman?"

Todd momentarily flashed back to that day - he was ten years old, and Claire had come home covered in raw egg, six types of mustard, glitter, flour, Sharpie, honey, and was wearing a sign that read: Kick me, I'm Freshman!

She had had a huge smile on her face.

"I think it's different for girls," Todd said.

"Oh, shit," Danny suddenly mumbled.

"What?"

"Don't- oh, fuck, just, just look down, bro," Danny said, and when Todd saw why, he realized it was too late.

A Cadillac Escalade pulled up - or, if possible, strolled up, like a scene from a movie, a mafia movie, and a tinted black window rolled down. The face Todd had dreaded the most grinned at him: full, square, white teeth. "Nice ride, T-man," Kemp said. The back windows also rolled down, revealing a few more athletic-looking seniors.

Todd froze. He had brought _friends_. Todd wasn't really for swearing, but 'fuck' very accurately described his current situation. "Um, uh, thanks," Todd stammered, clenching on his bike handles very tightly. Danny had lost all of his previous confidence that nothing bad could really happen, because did SUVs full of big jocks usually corner people without some dark ulterior motive?

Kemp patted his car. "Aren't you going to say something about my ride? She cost eighty thousand dollars."

"Um, nice car," Todd said, wondering if his voice really was as high as he imagined it was. "Very...large." And sturdy-looking. If it was Kemp's fender vs. Todd's bones, the fender would definitely win.

"I know," Kemp said, nodding.

"Well, I think I hear my mother calling," Todd lied, putting a foot on a bike pedal, preparing to shoot off as fast as he could. Cowardly? Maybe. But preferable to dealing this guy? Yeah.

"I don't hear anything," Kemp said. He turned to his friends. "Did you hear something?"

They all shook their heads, clearly enjoying this past the point of mild amusement. Christ. Psycho-narcissists with outrageous power complexes, Todd thought darkly.

Kemp shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, just wanted to see how you were doing, and what time you want the guys and I to pick you up tonight. Is eight good?"

"For what?" Todd asked nervously.

"We'll aim for nine, then," Kemp continued, as if he was actually having a two-sided conversation, and he put his hands back on the steering wheel. "Your sister says hi."

He drove off.

**::**

"LISTEN UP, YOU FILTHY FRESHMEN MAGGOTS,"Alicia yelled, her voice echoing against the tall, imposing buildings of Briarwood. Silence fell in the parking lot, where several dozen girls - Alicia had combined with Claire, Massie, and a few other senior girls - were lined up in rows. She smiled sweetly. "Let's get this out of the way. We, as senior girls, are here to help you become to best freshman girls you can possibly be. We're your friends, your _sisters_. So you _will_ listen to us, and you won't question anything we say, otherwise your high school experience will be completely ruined, because you didn't get the proper training _beforehand_. It's called the golden rule, girls. If you don't pull shit with us, we won't pull shit with you."

Alicia shot a look towards Claire, signaling her to continue.

"Well, without further ado," Claire said, a beaming, white smile emerging on her lips, "Welcome to Briarwood Freshman Orientation!"

On cue, a heavy guitar riff to some unidentifiable glam rock song blasted through the PA systems, and Alicia picked up the megaphone sitting on the hood of her car. "High school," she began, pacing back and forth in front of the girls, "is nothing like middle school. So you can forget the fuck about it."

As she prepped the girls, Massie and Claire walked around, examining the girls. "What's your name?" Massie asked a freshman in the front row.

"Abby," she answered, immediately, promptly.

"That's a cute name," Massie said, pushing a strand of hair behind Abby's ear. She practically shone, until Massie waved her hand towards the back of the line. "You're going to have to move to the back."

"Why?" Abby asked, confused.

"Because I don't like looking at your face," Massie answered. She put a hand on her hip. "And are you questioning a senior?"

"No," Abby whispered, mortified. "Of - of course not, I just think it's a little -"

"Bye," Massie said simply, pointing towards the back.

"If you thought you were popular in middle school," Alicia continued, "well, you may have been right. But that's not the case anymore. Because in high school, you're nothing more than some_ ANNOYING FRESHMAN SLUTS,_ got it?"

No reply.

"I said, _GOT IT_?"

A few nods.

"Then SAY IT, YOU DUMB BITCHES!" Alicia screamed. "Come on, say it! Say it!"

Weakly, there were a few scattered murmurs of, "Freshman sluts", but nothing impressive. Alicia sighed loudly and pinched the bridge of her nose, before looking back up and putting a hand on her hip. "That was TERRIBLE," she roared into the megaphone. "DO IT AGAIN, you stupid little freshman _SHITS!_"

"I'm an annoying freshman slut." The voices were stronger this time, more collective, but Alicia wasn't impressed.

"Look, you little _brats_," Alicia said, her voice softer, but somehow more menacing. "Us senior girls are doing are best to help you be prepared for Briarwood, but if you aren't going to help us help you, you might as well drop out now. Now, do it _again,_ and do it _well._"

Practically every freshman girl in the parking lot screamed, "I'M AN ANNOYING FRESHMAN SLUT", and Massie and Claire gave them small rounds of applause.

"Better, _so_ much better," Alicia cooed, putting down the megaphone and heading over to the huge catering truck that was waiting to be opened, her Louboutins clacking against the asphalt concrete. "I can tell we're going to be _great_ friends."

* * *

><p><strong>note:<strong> the hazing part was my favorite part of dazed and confused. sigh. you'll meet derrick in the next chapter and he'll be exactly like claire described him. ROCK ON, DERRICK. thanks for your reviews, they make me egotistical. :]


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